


Changing the Message

by Marzipan77



Series: The Ascended Chronicles of an Interfering Archaeologist [5]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Stargate SG-1, Torchwood
Genre: AU, Ascended Daniel Jackson, Episode: s01e04 Cyberwoman, Episode: s06e19 The Changeling, Fix-It, Gen, Not Children of Earth Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 09:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21134690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marzipan77/pseuds/Marzipan77
Summary: Still on his mission to save alternate Earths, Daniel comes across an Earth constantly targeted by alien species, where a rift in time and space has deposited dangers time after time. Where an alien species demands human children as sacrifices. He and the Others will not allow that to happen. And if he can fix another child's life - and Jack Harkness' future - at the same time? That sounds like a plan.After all, he is a Doctor.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some knowledge of Torchwood Children of Earth as well as Cyberwoman might be useful. A little help: Clem McDonald has an odd power - he can smell right/wrong, lies/truth. This installment takes place right after the SG1 episode, Changeling, wherein Daniel helps Teal'c stay alive by appearing to him in his hallucinations.

“Children are the living messages we send to a time we will not see.” — John F. Kennedy, 35th President of the United States

Clem's belly growled. Bread and jam. Bread and jam again for supper. The dark room was filled with the sound of restless tossing and turning, quiet tears, and the fierce whispers of those brave enough to risk the wrath of the Matron. He curled his fists in the thin, holey blanket and pressed it against his mouth. Not brave. Not Clem. He blinked away the wetness in his lashes and shut his eyes tight. He wondered if the girls in the other room had gotten more. If the teachers ate well in their hall above the stairs. If he would starve here before the cold or the sickness killed him.

Hollytree Lodge was old. That's what Clem had thought when he saw it out the window of the car. A big old house like he'd seen on TV. Somewhere a big old rich family lived with servants and shiny silverware all along the tables and big wide banisters on the stairs. Up top there would be an attic to play in, trunks and old record players and wardrobes packed with stuff, and the basement would be smelly and dank and scary.

When the big front doors had opened, he'd realized it wasn't that kind of old. Not cool, interesting old. Not impressive or historical. Just … old. The creaks of the floorboards weren't spooky, they made you walk on your tiptoes thinking you'd likely fall through. The tables were big, but set with thick crockery, chipped and stained, and the walls covered with sagging, peeling wallpaper that might have been green once upon a time. Every room smelled like dust and mold; old sickness covered over with the reek of bleach. 

Every day the smell was worse. 

Clem's nose never lied to him. Right and wrong. Lies and truth. Fake smiles. Harsh hands. Dark thoughts and plans. Clem could smell them all. As he grew up in Hollytree Lodge, he learned to put names to them. Label them. 

Seven boys and eight girls had greeted him that day. Eyed him silently from their chairs at the lunch table. Grey and sad and cold. Clem had known right away that he'd never leave. That this was his life now, now that mum and da … now that he was alone. Each kid had the same shadow behind his eyes. Even though the Matron had been loud and grabby and filled with fake compassion, he smelled the truth in her. Smelled the rot. These weren't kids anyone wanted to adopt, to take home and love. They'd been sent here, to the Highlands, to be forgotten.

No one cared. Clem remembered nodding to himself, fear lifting all the hairs on the back of his neck. If the kids lived or died, no one cared. Not Matron. Not the teachers. Not anyone.

Clem had only been six, but he'd understood. Understood that, if he wanted to live, to make it out of Hollytree Lodge, he would have to do it by himself. 

A crack of thunder shook the windows. The lightning storm was worse – the lights in the thick clouds had been flickering all day. Now, pitch-black, the bolts lit up the sky as bright as a sunny day in the Scottish Highlands, striking so fast Clem's eyes couldn't follow. Clem trembled from more than the cold. He pressed the blanket against his nose and mouth. The stench was awful. Worse today than even last night. Different. Last night he'd smelled death. Today it smelled like the end of everything.

Catherine died last night.

She'd been a friend. Sort of. As close as Clem let anyone. A year older, she'd lived at the Lodge since she was four. Last week, after that reeking military man visited, the Colonel, she'd just … stopped. Stopped eating. Drinking. She wouldn't get up, wouldn't get dressed. When Clem had sneaked into the kitchen in the middle of the night to pilfer some of the moldy cheese from the garbage can, he'd taken it to her. 

She'd smiled and shook her head.

"Why?" he'd asked, trembling with anger and fear. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because." She'd shaken her long dark curls. "I want to go. Before … " She hadn't finished, but her blue eyes were haunted. She knew about his gift. Understood. Something was coming and Catherine didn't want to face it with him.

"Where will you go? To heaven?" he'd whispered back. He'd heard about heaven from his mum and da. About gold streets and mansions and tables filled with feasts. Sometimes, when he couldn't remember the faces of his parents, or the sounds of their voices, the clean scent of love and devotion, he wanted to go, too. But dying – it would hurt. And Clem was already scared enough.

Catherine had gripped his hand with more strength than he'd expected. "I'm sorry." Her voice was low and fierce. "I don't mean to leave you. You could – you could come, too."

Clem had pushed her away, rising up to scurry away, back to his own bed. Her soft plea held him still.

"Then run, Clement McDonald. Run away. Before he comes back."

"The soldier?"

He could barely see her nodding in the dark. "He's bad, Clem. Bad. Worse than dying."

It was true. He knew it. But Catherine had always been braver than he was. Clem had turned away.

There were only twelve of them left, now: seven boys, five girls. Six years Clem had survived. Not without scars, not without the hateful memories of his own lies and stealing, the dark places growing on his soul, and the empty gazes of the four kids who had died since he'd come to Hollytree Lodge following him in the dark. Now, Catherine was there, too. 

Thunder roared. The flash of lightning was almost constant. Catherine would have said it was angels. The angels up in heaven were angry. Angry because the children - because Clem - was sad. Alone. Hungry. Any moment now they'd come down. Slay the Matron. Take all the orphans up into heaven with them. He figured heaven had enough food for all of them. Warm blankets. Clothes that were soft against his skin instead of coarse and constricting. Maybe Catherine was right. He smothered a sob against his fists. If he couldn't run away, maybe dying was better. He'd see his mum and da. He hoped he'd recognize them. It had been so long.

He tried to dig deep down into his best memories. The ones filled with gentle hands and soft words. A strong shoulder against his cheek. The scent of roses in curling dark hair. Pipe smoke. Tonight, they fled from him, his imagination filled in with this stark world. The feel of blows against his back. Nasty words flung at him from teachers. The terror that filled him up and wouldn't let him go.

Frowning, Clem lowered the blanket. The scent had changed. Death and darkness and lies overpowered by the fizz and pop of electricity, the smell of the ocean, clean sheets, a warm campfire. Marshmallows. Coffee. His stomach growled.

The sudden silence dragged Clem from his misery. The storm had stilled. The window at the end of his bunk glimmered, touched with gold. He lifted his head from the thin straw-filled mattress and breathed deep, blinking as the light blossomed, warm and welcoming.

Eyes wide, Clem caught his breath. This was it. They were coming. The angels. He let go of his blanket and rose, barely noticing the cold tile against his bare feet or that the other boys had joined him. Some held hands. One little one gripped the back of Clem's shirt. All stood silently, daring to hope.

He flinched when the door opened. Light spilled around the figure there – like waving branches in the storm's wind. The campfire smells blew across him, chasing away the last hint of death, of evil. Clem blinked, his eyes tearing up, and he wiped at them with the sleeve of his nightshirt. When he looked again it was a man – just a man – lit from behind by lights from the hallway behind him.

"I see you're all awake."

"American?" The word was startled out of Sean, a courageous ten year old. Hushed by the others, he lifted his chin in defiance.

The man smiled and stepped inside the room. A woman entered behind him, her arms filled with bundles.

"I've lived many places, Sean. My name is Daniel, and this is my friend Ganos. We have some things for you."

Clem's throat closed, his chest tight. Not angels. There was no rescue here from this life. No reunion with his parents. He fell back down onto his bunk, tearing out of the little one's hold. He turned away. He didn't care what they had, what they'd brought. Do-gooders. People who came, once, to throw clothes or toys at the orphans and then turn their backs. Leave them again.

His fingers plucked at his blanket as the others surged forward, eager for what the do-gooders had. He wouldn't look. He wouldn't hope. Not this time.

It was the smell of soup that lifted his head.

The brown-haired man crouched beside his bunk. "Hungry?"

Clem shrugged, hands on his knees, fingers digging in tight.

Steam rose from the mug cradled between the man's long-fingered hands. Clem smelled chicken and cream, leeks and mushrooms. His mouth watered. It smelled like something his mum made. He couldn't look away.

"I'm sorry."

Clem's gaze snapped up to the man's blue eyes. They were bright with tears.

"What – why?"

"I'm sorry we didn't come sooner," the man began again, "before you lost her."

Clem lowered his gaze back to the mug of soup. To the ghostly wisps of steam. "She's with the angels."

The man sighed. The bed next to Clem creaked as he perched on the edge. "Please." He set the mug into Clem's hands. "I know you're hungry. And I know Catherine wouldn't want you to starve yourself. Not if there was another way. We're bringing that, I promise."

Clem's hands tightened around the mug, the warmth seeping into his skin. It felt so good. Smelled right. Like home. Love. Belonging. His vision blurred, tears cold against his cheeks. "She wanted me to go, too. To the angels. Or run." His voice was a whisper. "She told me to run."

Before the man could speak, Clem went on. "She said the man was bad – the colonel that came. That I should run before he came back."

The man was silent for a long time. So long that Clem dared to look him in the eye. "She was right, wasn't she?"

The man nodded. "She was." There was anger there, behind the blue eyes. Gunpowder. Blazing fire. "Colonel Michael Sanders. But, hey," the man touched Clem's chin, "that's why we're here. To make sure he – and his friends," the word was bitter and cold, "won't be able to hurt you or any other child."

The lady with the bundles paused beside them. "Daniel?" 

"I hear them," the man – Daniel – muttered. He took a bundle of cloth from her arms and set it down where he'd been sitting. "After you've had your soup, there are some warm clothes here for you, Clement. Socks and shoes and a coat, too. Maybe you could help the smaller children get dressed."

His heart pounded. "Are we – are we leaving?"

Daniel's smile was kind, bright and happy. "You betcha. Believe it or not, there are lots of families, moms and dads, who would love nothing more than to have a child like you and your friends. Grownups can be lonely, too. With hearts full of love but no one to spend it on. No one to share it with."

"Lonely? For us?" Clem touched his chest, the fear zinging through his nerves, making him tremble. It couldn't be true. No one ever wanted them.

"You're not forgotten, not anymore." 

The lady's smile was warm, but her eyes held the same anger he'd seen in Daniel's. She turned to the man. "Time to go."

The hope Clem hadn't been able to smother rushed away, leaving him empty. "'Go'?" Rage charged in to fill him up. He slammed the cup to the floor, splashing hot soup and porcelain shards everywhere. "You're going. Of course, you're going. You always go." He stood, hands in fists at his sides. "Go, then. You've made your empty promises," he spat. "Leave us alone. Your kind always does." His voice rose until he was shouting, his face hot and red. "Get out! We don't need you!"

A great wind blew through the boys' bedroom, flattening clothes against limbs, rustling the thin blankets, rattling windows and walls. Warmth. Warning. It smelled equal parts of both.

"Ganos –" 

"No! I didn't mean –"

Clem blinked and the lady was gone. The broken mug and spilled soup disappeared. The man laid his hands on Clement's shoulders.

"It's okay." Daniel spoke loudly, out into the room, over the dying wind. "We're not leaving. I'm not leaving you, and I won't until every one of you is safe. I don't leave people behind." The man's face was pale, his expression grim and desperate. "I know you've been alone – lonely – for a long time and you've all heard promises before. You've been through something terrible, but, I promise, _I promise_, it will be okay."

Clem looked deep into those blue eyes. Smelled spice and sand and heat – and truth.

_"Trust him,"_ he heard. It was Catherine's voice. _"He's an angel."_

"Okay," Clem whispered.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Jack Harkness, alien Time Agent, was saved from death by the Doctor's Companion, Rose Tyler. It made him a 'fixed point in time and space', immortal, which freaked out the Doctor who abandoned him and he ended up in Cardiff, Wales mid-19th century. And there he waited for the Doctor to show up again.

Daniel waited on the front steps of Hollytree Lodge, arms crossed, as the trucks drove up the pothole-rutted driveway towards them. Ganos waited one step behind, still smarting from the Others' stern reproach. She was not good with children – few of the Ascended were. They'd been out of touch with humanity for too long to remember, to recognize children's fears and needs, to understand the volatile emotions that were so close to the surface. Their own childhoods had been spent so long ago, millenia ago. For most of them.

The orphanage at Daniel's back was too familiar for him to forget.

Daniel hadn't been in time to save Catherine from her sorrow. He couldn't give Clem his friend back or heal the latest rip in the boy's soul. But Oma had intervened, had swept the girl up from her deathbed and into Ascension. He closed his eyes, relief swamping him. She hadn't been lost – not one of these forgotten children had been lost. Not on his watch. No matter which alien race or heartless Earth government intended.

Each child now had a home – a good home, with loving parents who had been hoping and praying for that blessing. They'd been escorted home, to villages and cities, farms and manor houses and tiny apartments, to be met with tears of joy and arms reaching out in welcome. Families had been newborn out of love and compassion, willing to make sacrifices, to nurture and protect these forgotten ones.

Their scars could not be healed immediately, erased, memories purged of darkness, not without destroying the true, unique soul of each child. Daniel knew that their losses would hone their spirits, would strengthen them. They'd remember the fear and dread but overwhelming it all would be hope. Light. The dawning awareness that life could be beautiful and warm and welcoming. And people could be good and kind. He smiled, whispering his wishes out to the universe.

"Let them all find their own SG1s. Their own Jacks and Sams and Teal'cs."

He'd taken Clem to his new home himself. He'd made a promise to the boy and Daniel was not about to break his word. Images blinked through his memory – another face, frozen in fear and pain gazing up at him. Teal'c had nearly died – Teal'c and Bra'tac, members of Daniel's family, of his heart, had lain amidst a field full of dead Jaffa and shared a symbiote between them for days. No matter how the Others had chastened him, Daniel had stayed beside them.

It was the very least he could do. 

Teal'c's mind had been fractured. Bra'tac had remained unconscious, unaware of the passage of time while they struggled to live. But, Teal'c – Daniel shoved his hands into his pockets and scrunched up his shoulders. Teal'c had suffered. Strong, resilient, determined, Daniel's friend skated close to madness, to a darkness of soul and spirit that even the Ascended Others would not be able to heal. Just like with Jack, Daniel had been forbidden from gathering his friend up and taking him to safety. But Daniel had learned his lesson with Jack – this time he hadn't left Teal'c. Not for a moment. 

Teal'c was safe now, he reminded himself. Junior was a thing of the past, but Teal'c would recover. With his team around him, Teal'c had all the support he would need. Just like Clem. Daniel had delivered the twelve year old to his new home, introduced him to the two women who had been waiting for him, who had taken in other forgotten children from around the world and healed their spirits. Who would have the patience and persistent love that Clem needed. 

The boy had looked up at Daniel with eyes filled with hope and amazement. "They smell like home," he'd whispered. A trace of fear flickered there. "Is this real?"

In Daniel's memory, Clem's round face and blue eyes morphed into the bare head and haunted eyes of a familiar Jaffa. 

_"I promise you this is real."_ Daniel's words had echoed in both realities. _"You're just going to have to trust me on that. You go to sleep. When you wake up, everything is going to be fine."_

"Promise?" Clem breathed.

_"Is that a promise, Daniel Jackson?" Teal'c smiled, his eyes closing._

Daniel's chest tightened in the face of the trust shining from both human boy and alien warrior. 

_"That's a promise."_

Gravel and dirt spat from the tires of the Range Rover, yanking Daniel back to this version of Earth. Michael Sanders, spine straight and chin lifted in arrogance, moved towards him. It was the other man, the one sauntering slowly around the car that drew Daniel's attention.

"Who are you? Where's Staines?" Sanders barked.

Daniel walked past his bluster, waving one hand to set the man into stasis. He trusted Ganos to take care of the driver of the transport vehicle. The truck that would have delivered twelve innocent children to aliens who would have used them as drugs, who would have tortured them every day for fifty years. And now he was facing the man who had signed on to escort them.

"A fixed point in time and space," Daniel snapped at the man who called himself a Time Agent. "How proud the Doctor would be of you now, Jack Harkness."

"The –" Harkness nearly stumbled but recovered quickly. His eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"

"I'm the one who was forced to come here to keep you from tearing your own soul into pieces. To keep you from betraying the people who love you, past, present, and future." Daniel's anger swirled around him like a visible aura. "Do you know where you were taking these children? Do you even care?"

"Hey, don't pretend you know me, pal." Jack wagged a finger in Daniel's face, a wide, feral grin on his face. "How long I've been stuck on this dismal little planet, at the mercy – ha, mercy! – of these twisted humans! Tortured, killed, only to wake up to do it all over again –"

Daniel pressed forward. "A fixed point in time and space doesn't mean stagnation. It doesn't mean you lack the ability to change. To grow. To become a better person – not unless you are determined not to. Tell me, Harkness, what would Rose Tyler think of you now? What would she think of you turning these children over to become slaves to aliens? To live endless lives of pain and misery?" He shoved Harkness backwards with both hands. "I think she would have made a very different choice if she'd known what you'd become."

Harkness paled, his eyes huge as he stumbled backwards, trying to get away from Daniel's accusations, his wrath. "You're – are you – did you regenerate? Is this you?" A grin slid across his face as he looked Daniel up and down.

Oh, Daniel was tempted. Tempted to claim to be the only being Jack Harkness had ever respected. The one Harkness bided his time here on Earth to try to reunite with. He could create a blue box, its distinctive sound of arrival, and put on the façade of the tall, dark-haired figure the current Doctor wore. But, what would that accomplish? No, that would only continue Harkness' blind obsession. And widening his perspective is what Daniel intended to do.

Although punching the man in the face definitely had its merits.

Daniel straightened, allowing his gathered power to dissipate. "You don't know me. And, frankly, I don't believe you know the Doctor either if this is how you treat the children of this planet."

"Don't tell me –" Harkness' knee-jerk reaction had him stepping forward to challenge Daniel again.

"What is the Doctor's mission? How does he feel about this planet? The people?" Daniel stood his ground and hit Harkness with his questions at point-blank range. "Why does he gather his Companions from this world when he has infinite worlds to choose from?"

The spark of anger turned to indecision. Harkness paused, his mind churning. "I don't –"

"Don't pretend you don't know."

"Okay, fine. He – he loves this planet. Says it's under his protection." Harkness shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat. "But we both know that's a crock, don't we? I mean, where the hell is he? We've got the threat of a flu epidemic and aliens demanding some kind of sacrifice." He spun in a circle, lifting his face and hands to the sky. "Where the hell are you?" He shouted.

"He's somewhere else." Daniel flung one hand out, power streaming from his fingertips to paint a picture in the air between them. Planets. Spaceships. Yellow-green fog spilled out behind the alien armada, touching suns, planets, asteroids, infecting them all. One small bright box appeared, the only color in the colorless deadness expanding out from the Viral Ships. It opened, revealing two figures, one bright, one dark, holding a device between them. The infectious fog stopped expanding. Gathered itself. Rushed towards the TARDIS.

"No!"

Harkness grabbed at the image and pulled his hands back, stung. 

"You care so much about him. About them."

"I do. They're –" he shook his head, riveted to the image of the deadly virus being sucked towards the TARDIS. "They're good. They're better than good. They're honest. And they know me. The real me."

"And accept you."

Harkness nodded, unable to tear his gaze from the image.

"Yet they left. Alone. To make your own way. How long ago?"

"Too long. Too many deaths ago to count." His voice was low but steady. Wistful.

Daniel heard the longing. He took in a deep breath, reaching for the right words, the way past Harkness's obsession, in through the hard shell he'd grown around his soul for survival's sake.

"Why here?" he asked. "Why did you choose this planet? These people to wait among? Have you ever asked yourself that, Jack?"

Harkness blinked, frowning. "The Rift. There's a Rift in Cardiff. He can use it to power the TARDIS."

Daniel moved around the image he'd made, drawing Harkness' gaze to him. "And Cardiff is the only place in the universe, in the multiverse, where he could power the TARDIS."

"Well, no, of course not." A smile flashed on and off. "But it was the closest."

"And why was it the closest?"

The frown deepened. "I don't under –"

"Jack." Daniel's memory tossed scenes around in his inner eye. How much time had he spent standing before a stubborn man named 'Jack', trying to explain, to communicate his thoughts, insights, to get Jack to see another way? He pulled the images back to himself, holding them tight. What he wouldn't give for …

'Not the time,' he reminded himself and focused again on this particular Jack in this particular universe. Another powerful man with plenty of guilt and misery weighing him down. Charismatic. Intelligent. Driven. Wounded. Buried deep in a well of depression, Jack O'Neill had once considered detonating a nuclear bomb and destroying all of the innocent life on Abydos. Jack Harkness, his own pain a blazing fire, had nearly made a similar mistake.

"Open your eyes," Daniel insisted. "You've been hurt. Tortured. The few people of Earth who know you have tried to destroy you. But will you condemn innocent children to decades of the same torture because of those few? Will the Doctor praise you for it? He loves this world; you've already admitted it. And you've met others, other humans, who would not hurt you, wouldn't hurt anyone. But would fight to help you. Isn't Rose Tyler from this Earth? Isn't she an example of the goodness, the bravery and strength and beauty of humans?"

Harkness' throat moved as he swallowed down an instinctual reaction. "Torchwood –"

Daniel moved another step closer. "An organization that has been tainted with selfishness. With stupidity. With greed and xenoracism. But, even now, you know some individuals within its ranks who are good. Who care. Some you might even call friends."

"A few." Harkness shook his head in denial.

Daniel smiled. "Would you believe me if I told you that, in the future, you'd come to call a group of Torchwood agents your family? That they'd hold places in your heart much more firmly than your Doctor? Than Rose?"

"Impossible."

"That one of them," Daniel placed his hand on Harkness' chest, over his heart, "another guilty, damaged soul afraid of his own darkness will touch your heart? Will, if you let him, if you're brave enough to take the hand he offers, become more than family? More than friend?"

Blue eyes danced with tears, Harkness' gaze flicking wildly between Daniel's eyes. He couldn't speak, couldn't ask.

That was okay.

"Jack Harkness, today we've saved twelve children from torture and death. From the lies of aliens and the fear of your government. Today, my friends have swept an alien fleet from this world and destroyed their ability to return or to target any other innocents with their horrors. But, just as important, I hope we've touched the heart you've hidden behind banter and sex and the façade of callous indifference."

Harkness' gaze lifted, scouring the dark, foreboding orphanage. "Children," he whispered in disbelief. "What – how could I –"

"You didn't," Daniel insisted. "That's what you need to remember, to take from this night."

Harkness grabbed Daniel's wrist. "I would have. If you hadn't – "

"You would have." Daniel spoke the truth with as much kindness as he could gather. "That darkness in your soul? That tendency to never look beyond an immediate, urgent reaction? To never consider consequences, real consequences? That is your greatest weakness. Pragmatism," he spat the word out like bitter seeds, "hiding behind 'the greater good.' I've seen it too many times before. Men and women in power adding up columns of lives as if they can find the right and wrong through numbers?" Daniel shook his head. "That's true evil. You cannot, through taking a single innocent life balance some sort of equation with hundreds – thousands – of others you might save in the future. If they find out, those thousands that you might save, they will not thank you. Believe me. And your own soul might never recover."

"Then, how do you decide? How can you ever make a decision?" Harkness seemed frantic for answers, for a rule or guide.

Daniel couldn't give him that. But he could give him a chance.

"People – humans – from birth we train our consciences. Our families, our first friends, can show us the way. Even these children," Daniel gestured to the empty house behind him, "have been learning every day, learning what kind of person they want to be. Children are the ones to see through adults' facades, who can pierce the outer shell of rationalizations we allow ourselves with one single question. One look." Daniel let his gaze drift across Harkness, to take in the bright energy of his soul, bundled up tight with regret and guilt, anger and abandonment. "One of the best men of my world suggested that we judge a society based on how they treat their weakest members. The old. The infirm. Those challenged, mentally or physically." He sharpened his tone. "Their children. Instead of targeting children, you should be learning from them."

Harkness' expression fell into lines of sorrow and regret. "Children see right through me."

Daniel let some of his power spool out through the hand still resting on Harkness' chest. Warm. Inviting. "Time to take a stand, Jack. These people, these humans you live among only have one life, one chance to get it right. To find that spark that ignites their soul. Maybe that spark is a person, a child, a family. Maybe it's a cause. A country. Just because you have a millenia of chances ahead of you doesn't mean you shouldn't find that same spark. Something – someone – that makes waking up after every dark sleep worthwhile."

"Not the Doctor." Harkness' disappointment was obvious, painted in the bleak despair of his features. Before Daniel could answer, he continued. "Don't tell me. I already know."

Harkness took a step back. Daniel's hand fell to his side. He knew that he'd done his best for Jack Harkness. Turned his thoughts away from himself and onto new paths. Opened his eyes to the possibilities of a future filled with something other than waiting. He hoped it would be enough.

"What about him? What about the rest of them, the ones who decided sacrificing children was the … pragmatic thing to do?"

"Them?" Daniel looked back over his shoulder. Ganos stood with her hands on each side of the colonel's head, a russet glow shining from her fingers. Her lips were moving. "You know about Retcon," he began. "This method is a little more advanced." He turned back, a smile curving his lips. "Dreams teach, you know."


	3. Chapter 3

Hands gripped the chains of Ianto's swing, steadying it until Ianto could wriggle down to his feet. His dad had pushed him so high that he'd lost his breath. The wide blue sky had been pretty, Ianto pretending to fly, but Ianto had been a little too scared to appreciate it.

"Hey! 'at's ma boy. Hands off, ya creeper!"

Ianto stilled. His dad was having one of his bad spells. He'd known that when he'd dragged Ianto to the park. But it didn't matter. Ianto loved his dad. And he could take care of himself. He knew the smell of drink, the puffy redness of his dad's face, the glimmer of confusion in his eyes.

The blue-eyed man smiled down at him. "Hello, Ianto. Why don't you head over to the slide while I have a talk with your dad?"

"You from the AWCPP?" Ianto frowned. He didn't think so. The man didn’t talk right. His voice was like the one on the telly when mum watched her shows. He said Ianto's name funny.

"No." The man squatted down to look Ianto in the eye. "But my friends and I want to make sure children are safe. I'm not going to hurt your dad, I promise." The man's smile faded, replaced by a solemn sincerity. "Do you think you can trust me?"

Something had Ianto nodding – something warm and steady deep down inside. "I can do that."

"Thank you," the man said. "Now, go on."

After, Ianto would only remember that one bright summer day, his dad had stopped drinking. The blue-eyed man, his figure glowing, changing into bright tendrils as it lifted into the sky – that image slipped down to lodge beneath his chest and was labeled a dream. A good dream.

TW SG1 TW SG1 TW

The silence of the empty hub pressed down on Ianto. His heartbeat slammed against his ribcage, his skin hot and dry, his outer calm barely covering the tumult of his thoughts. Second thoughts – third, fourth, sixteenth, a hundred and tenth thoughts swarmed him. He could not do this. He had to do this. Lisa was already dead. Lisa could be saved. Lisa had stepped forward in that one instant, that second in Torchwood One and the Cybermen had taken her instead of Ianto.

He set his hand against the controls that would let Doctor Tanizaki in and closed his eyes. The cyberneticist he'd found in Japan would help her. Help him. A familiar image surged to life in the darkness. Lisa's eyes. Wide open and horrified. Begging him. Begging him for help. Every time he closed his eyes, Ianto saw them. Heard her pleas. Felt the stab of guilt like a knife in the heart.

He'd done his research. He knew what was happening. Cybermen – women – could control humans. They used radio waves. They used implants. UNIT and Torchwood files had been filled with all the ways the alien constructs could make humans do whatever they wanted. They'd done it at Torchwood London with blue-tooth devices. For an Archivist and former Torchwood One agent like Ianto Jones, the information was pretty easy to come by.

Ianto opened his eyes. It didn't matter. Whether Lisa was controlling him or not, Ianto had to help her. Save her. He'd come here, to Cardiff, to Torchwood Three for this purpose. He'd bartered his soul for it, slapped on his happy little tea-boy façade and flirted his way onto Jack Harkness' team. He licked dry lips and smoothed down his tie. They never looked beneath; none of them were interested past Ianto's bland expression, his strict politeness – not one of them. They barely met his eyes on most days, taking Ianto as part of the landscape, the background hum and clatter of the hub. He'd worried, at first, if Jack was just biding his time, waiting to spring a trap for Ianto. He didn't know if he was relieved or disappointed that the leader of Cardiff Torchwood had been as easy to fool as the rest of them.

The hub door rolled back and Ianto bowed. "Doctor Tanizaki. Thank you for coming."

The doctor bowed his head. "You have set me quite a puzzle, Mister Jones. I am anxious to see what kind of progress we can make."

Small talk. Ianto had no idea what he actually said to the doctor as he led him deeper and deeper into the hub. Past the cells. The archives. Down farther than Owen or Tosh had ever come. Far beyond Gwen's narrow focus. Suzy had been curious, her suspicious mind had led her to question everything, at least until Ianto distracted her with alien tech. Jack – Jack probably knew the huge scope of Torchwood's branching arms, but dark memories of his days as Torchwood's slave kept him away.

Guilt clawed deep. Again. He was putting them at risk, all of them. Stealing Torchwood resources. Lying with every hint of a smile or a joke. He should stop. Turn around. Call Jack. 

He didn't stop.

Ianto reached for the lock of the huge iron door. He met the scientist's curious gaze. "She's – sometimes she's herself, she recognizes me. She knows what happened to her. Other times –"

Tanizaki raised one hand. "No need to explain. Perhaps you would allow me to meet her on my own? Without the buffer of your presence? I may find her more honest, her reactions different than if she was faced with your concern for her."

Ianto frowned. "I'm not sure that's safe –"

"If you are unsure about safety, you should not have invited me in the first place." 

The man's honesty provoked a wince. Before he could dredge up a reply, Ianto had already opened the lock and pulled the door open. "The lights will come on automatically," he murmured as Tanizaki moved forward. 

At the last moment, before Ianto could decide whether to follow the doctor or shut the door, Tanizaki turned to him and laid one hand against Ianto's cheek. He gasped, jerking into the touch, as something behind his eyes snapped. Broke apart. Eyes wide, he slumped down, left shoulder against the door, Tanizaki crouching beside him. But it wasn't Tanizaki anymore – it was a blue-eyed, brown-haired man who looked oddly familiar. 

"It's okay, Ianto. I've got you." 

American. The accent and the tone spun Ianto's memories back to his childhood. To a little boy in a swing pushed far too high. To the smell of alcohol. To a promise made and accepted.

Shivering, Ianto felt hot tears on his cold cheeks. A buzzing, fizzling irritation that had been with him for months, since Torchwood One, since that awful day, was muffled, the urgency of getting help for Lisa falling away. The silence in his head was deafening. What – what had he done? What was he doing?

"Sh." The blue-eyed man began to glow with a golden light. "Rest here, Ianto. I'll take care of this." He smiled. "You still trust me, don't you?"

"I do," Ianto whispered.

The door didn't quite close behind him, the ghost of Ianto's childhood. His muscles limp and lax, Ianto pressed closer and listened.

"Lisa Hallett," the man said.

"She is not here – she has been converted. Perfected."

"We both know that's not true. Not completely." Lightning cracked, bright enough to light up the dim hallway around Ianto. "You are powerful and clever. You've drained away most of what made Lisa herself. But I've met your type before. And, believe me, I know that something of the host survives."

Metal screeched, screaming; electrical connections burst into flames.

Eyes closed, Ianto heard her.

"Ianto? Where's – where's Ianto?"

"He's not coming, Lisa. Don't you think you've hurt him enough?"

"No." Angry, filled with rage, Lisa's words burned. "Never. He should have saved me. Should have stopped them. He was an agent – I was just, just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Why wasn't it him? Him instead of me?"

Yes. Ianto agreed. His hands fumbled in his lap, trying to find a grip, a place to hold onto so he could rise and go to her. 

The blue-eyed man's voice was filled with pain. "I asked myself those same questions, once, Lisa. Why couldn't it have been me? Why wasn't I there? But if that was really you, the Lisa that Ianto knew and loved, you wouldn't be blaming him. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry that you were taken, that so little of you remains. Sorrier that I can't heal you and give you back what the Cybermen have destroyed." He sighed, long and deep. "There is only one thing I can do now. I can help you release your burden."

"No – there's a chance, Ianto said there was a doctor, someone who could –"

"Stop." More cracks and pops, the sizzle of burning wires, the smell of ozone drifted through the partially open door. "Lisa. There's so little of you left here, only enough for the Cybermen to use. Voice. Face. Emotions. I promise - _I promise_ to end this torture. To save Ianto. You don't really want to live as a whisper of guilt and blame inside Ianto's mind, do you? To doom Ianto because he couldn't save you?"

She was sobbing.

Ianto's spirit bled out guilt and regret and self-loathing and, through the open wounds cut by Lisa's pain, accepted the truth. Evil had come and taken his love. Killed her. Stolen everything that made Lisa, Lisa. And he, human, imperfect, hadn't been able to stop it. And all the wishing and planning and guilt in the world wouldn't change it. Lisa would die.

And he would live.

Lisa seemed to accept it, too. After a few gulping breaths, she sighed. "I don't want to hurt him."

"I know."

"Can you save him? Can I trust you with my Ianto?"

The man's voice wavered, as if caught up in emotion. "When my wife – when the evil inside her tried its best to kill me, she sacrificed herself. And trusted me with my friends, with my new family. Trusted them to take care of me. I promise that Ianto has what he needs here. With these people. Now that you've released your burden, now that the monstrous connections between you and him can be cut, he can truly be himself. Stop hiding. And accept himself as part of them."

"Okay." The whisper was barely audible. It sounded like good-bye.

"No. No." Ianto tried again to gather his strength, to shove himself through the door – to crawl. He banged his head against the door. A bright white light surged, and tears blinded him. "No, Lisa."

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"Hey."

Darkness fled. Ianto gazed up into familiar blue eyes. "Jack?" There was a thin mattress beneath him, a blanket drawn up to his chest. He was – he blinked – he was in Jack's bunker. Lying on his bed. "How?"

A smile slid across Jack's features. "Got a call from … an old friend. Found you downstairs. Found some other things, too. Looked like you'd been through the wars, so I brought you up here." Jack tilted his head. "Got something to tell me?"

Ianto pushed himself up to sit sideways on the bunk. He rubbed both hands over his face. "It's a little fuzzy."

Jack plunked down next to him, nudging him with his shoulder. "Yeah, we used to call it having a Cyber-Hangover. I've called Owen in to give you a once-over. Should have done that on day one. Might have saved us both some grief."

Dropping his hands, Ianto clutched the blanket. "The conversion unit, is it – is she –"

Jack laid one hand over his. "Dead. Destroyed." He paused. "Everything."

_Everything._ Ianto's chest ached. But his mind was calm. Peaceful. Healing. He turned to the man he'd tricked, the one he'd played so he could bring a Cyberwoman into Torchwood Three. An alien monster who might have killed them all. Or worse, converted them. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

"Okay." Jack seemed to accept the apology easily. "Me, too," he added, eyebrows raised. "Sorry I didn't notice. That I didn't look deeper."

Ianto shivered and Jack looped an arm across his shoulders.

"Need some coffee?" Jack tightened his grip for a moment. "I know a guy. His coffee is unbelievable. And he's kinda cute, too."

"Yeah?" Ianto felt his cheeks flush. Damned Welsh genes. 

"Yeah," said Jack. "C'mon." He rose and tugged Ianto to his feet. "As soon as Tosh and Gwen handle the Arcan Leisure Crawler, we'll talk. All of us. Get things 'sorted,' is, I believe, the proper local terminology."

Ianto straightened, tugging his vest into place. "You don't have to. I'm not –"

"Yes, you are. You're part of the team, Ianto Jones. Even if we suck at showing it."

Ianto snorted. 

"Okay, we really suck," Jack added. And then wiggled his eyebrows.

"Yeah," Ianto slid his hands into his pockets. "Me, too." He imagined their reactions to his story, their anger. Dismissal. Blame. Jack's warm hand on the back of his neck lifted his gaze.

"You're human. So are they. We might shout and storm off and sharpen our sarcasm on you for a bit, but we'll get over it. Will you?"

Ianto swallowed. "I think she died a long time ago."

Jack tightened his grip. "Doesn't mean you shouldn't mourn." He took a step towards the metal ladder that would lead to his office above. "You're human, remember?" Jack nodded. "One of the good ones."

Ianto hesitated, the ache in his chest felt like a great empty hole, dark and unfillable. "How do you know?"

"Trust me," Jack headed up. "I've made a study. Long, long study. Started back in the 60s when this handsome man dragged me away from the edge of a cliff. Told me some home truths. Gave me a verbal spanking." He reached the top and crouched down, a half-smile dancing on his lips as he stared down at Ianto.

"The Doctor?"

"Ha, no. An angel, believe it or not." The gleam in Jack's eyes was warm and deep, not the sparkle of flirtation or teasing that Ianto had seen time and time again. It wasn't shaded with that sense of regret and despair that the Doctor's name sometimes generated. "I think you might have met him, too."

When Ianto reached the top of the ladder, he grabbed Jack's elbow, turning him back from the door. "Blue eyes? Brown hair? American accent?" He felt the hole in his chest contract, just a little. "What's not to love?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IANTO LIVES!!


End file.
